


A Song of Love and Death

by crookedspoon



Series: The Sound by Which I Live and Die [9]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: 31_days, Community: prompt_in_a_box, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Inspired by Music, Music, Piano, Wordcount: 100-500
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-12-22 03:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Three minus one equals falling apart.</i>
</p><p>In which Kankurou plays a dirge for their loved one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Song of Love and Death

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Dec 20, 2011 and written for the prompts _Dec. 19, "the god of loneliness"_ from 31_days and _"I am heavy, but I feel frail."_ (Eyesore - Maria Mena) from prompt_in_a_box's Round 35 (revisited)
> 
> Warnings: implied character death, AU-ish

_"Virgil understood that  
death begins and never ends, that it’s the god of loneliness. "_  
—[The God of Loneliness](http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2008/05/05/080505po_poem_schultz), by Philip Schultz 

 

Kankurou feeds his broken heart to the piano, note by aching note. A fist constricts Gaara's own bleeding one, another clenches his throat. He is heavy, sinking, drowning, unable to breathe and Kankurou's fingertips drive the sorrow deep-deep-deeper into him, connects them with the mournful tune, swaying into it, swaying under its weight.

He appears as though he's drunk – a vessel for the dirge – he lets the song consume him, because he cannot bear (to stop or look, or to accept the pain); he'll play until all feeling's gone, in both fingertips and heart. He'll play to drain what's left of him.

Grief cannot be severed, the roots cast nets around his veins, and Gaara feels them shoot when his eyes touch upon her sunless hair. A dry-bled heart leeches color from the skin, cheeks, lips and even bruises. The cuts no longer ooze.

Painted nails press into cold-cold skin and he rests his forehead on hands that cannot feel his warmth. He's six years old again, aching and unloved. Already, walls crumble into a hole that rips deeper trenches than what Shuukaku left behind, a gaping emptiness that nothing fills.

It's so unreal, the bleakness following in a lament's shadow. He has yet to go insane, he thinks, he's waiting and there's no one to stop him beside Kankurou, who walks the edge himself, treading from key to key, as though melody alone keeps the seams from bursting.

It probably does. His heart, though, he can't piece back together.


End file.
